On Saturday nights when my peers were out drinking and partying, I was honing my disciple with the sword.
After class the entire group would head out after for some dinner, a chance to talk about training, unwind, and socialize for a bit.
Tonight the invitation was to the Japanese restaurant around the corner and the teacher as the teacher sent one of the senior students ahead to grab a table and once everything was away and the door locked the mass of us made our way over to the restaurant.
Most of the evening crowd had passed for the night, so when the group of about thirty or so of us poured in, the staff quickly moved to join a bunch of tables together to make one long table.
Some students randomly sat down, other tried to sit as close to the teacher as possible, a few waited to be seated by one of the senior students.
Once everybody was seated and menus started passing out, it was time to take my place at the table.
My responsibilities dictated a very particular spot, the one nobody ever wanted, or so it seemed if one missed it, but like everything in the movement there was a definitive reason for it.
One just had to be aware.
My place was at the farthest end of the table, the one spot that held the sport furthest away from the teacher, but closest to the door.
The same geometry plotted every time.
Sitting next to me was the senior student of the dojo, the one who had been with the teacher the longest, even before the Master started visiting, and it was his geometry to sit closest to the bar in order to make sure everybody always had a fresh round of drinks, no matter what they were drinking.
Flipping through the menu, trying to make a decision, he made a passing suggestion to try the miso soup, which I declined.
A second friendly suggestion, as it was some of the best around here followed, which I also declined.
I realized my mistake, and quickly hoped he would let it pass, casually asking him about an entree on the menu to subtly guide things.
He didn’t let it pass, and asked me why I didn’t want to try it.
Masked under a jest of course.
I refused because its not my thing.
The salt, the texture, the taste, I’m just not into it.
But it was to late for that.
What I knew, and should have happened, given that the geometry of our seating had arranged itself to sit next to each other was to compliment him on the suggestion, allow him to order it for me, and just eat it.
But instead, stubborn and stupid, I had issued a challenge.
I could have even ordered it, had a little of it and after a few rounds of drinks just left it aside and nobody would have noticed.
Jokingly he pressed again on the soup as the orders hadn’t been taken yet.
This was my last chance, to pivot and be mindful of the harmony. I could have said, you know what, that does sound good, and all would be righted.
But I’m stubborn.
And that sometimes makes me stupid.
One of the students across from the senior student chimed in and asked if I would try it for ten bucks?
I knew he was going to do something like that.
His geometry at the table was always at the center, so he could be seen by everybody, hear everything, and comment on everything so the attention would reflect back on him.
The later the evening got, the louder his voice got.
He saw the look I gave him, but that only embolden things.
So much for seniors listening to juniors.
Now the pot was growing to twenty dollars...twenty five…
Eat the soup and take the money and make the seniors student look like a fool, hold me ground and I’m still stuck.
I calculated that I had a few more moments at most before the teacher noticed and wondered what the attention was at the end of the table.
With a glance I tried to get the attention of the next senior student near the teacher, a flimsy lifeline best in that maybe he would notice and call me over, giving me an out.
His geometry at the table was one of being closest to the teacher, wrapped up in the conversation on that side, yet able to see across all of it and keep tabs on anything going on.
In a flash he met my eyes and I got my response.
I was on my own.
So what is it going to take to get you to try this soup was the final statement by the senior student as even the junior went silent for a moment.
This was the conclusion everybody was waiting for.
Would you try the soup for me?
A question that seemed to come out of nowhere.
Her geometry at the table as the newest junior was one that could have been anywhere as there was no obligations to anything taken yet.
Yet, no matter the geometry she always seemed to be sitting across from me.
I ate the soup.
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